


Postdiluvian

by Ebyru



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Season 1 Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-09
Updated: 2012-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after your heart can’t heal anymore? Sam finds out the hard way.</p><p>Excerpt: "Sam tries to get her filthy hands off his cock. She grasps his wrist instead, tying her scarf to it. That was Jessica’s spot. That was how she got her first kiss from Sam. That was not a place for this putrid girl to be touching. Sam shoves, harder than he means. She hits her head against the side of the porcelain seat."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postdiluvian

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by verucasalt123 @ lj
> 
> I feel I should warn you about the robotic narration, but I think it's fitting for this type of story. Yes, one of the main characters die. 
> 
> Postdiluvian; "a person or thing existing after the biblical Flood"  
> Also, this was meant to be a Karla!AU, but it is much, much more romantic.

Dean is looking through the blinds of his front window, wondering whose hand Sam is holding. He can’t remember ever seeing Sam that openly happy, not since Jessica. But there he is, beaming, flirting, touching a _man_ like he’s the most perfect creature Sam’s ever laid eyes on. It’s shocking that it’s a guy for all of one minute until Dean remembers how Sam used to look at Jess.

 

It was just like this.

 

Sam is smiling ear to ear, leaning in to peck the shorter, older man on the cheek softly. Sam doesn’t usually do that type of thing on the porch of their home. The man is glowing, untangling his fingers to wrap around Sam’s waist and pull him closer. They shorten the gap between them, their hips snug, kissing like the world is dead and gone, and all they have is this.

 

And, really, if Dean—with all his insecurities and judgment—can accept that Sam is in love with another man, then why can’t the world?

 

But now that the secret’s out, Dean wants to know everything.

 

Dean’s not about to let some random dude break his Sammy’s heart again, not after all the months of devastation he spent mourning Jessica, not after all the time he’s been cooped up in the house avoiding society as a whole.

 

Dean _needs_ to know everything.

 

Dean leaves the window, sneaking up to Sam’s bedroom. He promised he would never go in his little brother’s space, not after he caught Sam and Jessica having sex one evening. They were awfully quiet for such a passionate couple. Dean never understood that.

 

But this man, this new love interest, Dean needs to find out about him. If there is any clue or indication as to what type of person he is or how he treats Sam, it would be in Sam’s room.

 

Dean pushes the door open quietly. He isn’t surprised to find the cleanest, most organized room he’s ever seen. If he’s going to do this, with Sam just downstairs putting on a show for the neighbours, he’s going to have to be quick. He stalks over to the bed promptly, checking underneath it, coming up with nothing. Not even a speck of dust or dirty magazines. He stands, going to Sam’s desk next.  He carefully sifts through the papers. Eureka. There’s a short handwritten message addressed to Sam, from _Castiel_.

 

Dean has a name to the face now.

 

Dean starts reading it, but nearly throws up in his mouth. How could a dude be this mushy? He puts it back in its spot, never to be seen again (by his eyes). He opens a drawer, then another, but all he sees is school work and blank, lined sheets.

 

Maybe Sam liked to hide stuff in his laundry like he used to, back when they were kids.

 

Dean looks around the room. He can’t figure out where Sam keeps his basket. He opts for searching in the closet instead. He opens the door, pulls the dangling string, and the light flickers on. The laundry basket is on the floor, closed, and there’s a pair of pink underwear hanging out. Dean slides them out slowly, simultaneously pushing the lid open. He immediately throws them back in. He stares until he hears footsteps coming up the stairs. Even then, his brain won’t allow him to function properly.

 

Blood.

 

The laundry basket is filled with women’s clothing splattered in dark, dry blood.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

Sam is a good child. He’s honest, attentive, respectful and quiet. His parents never complain about him, neither does his daycare or anyone else for that matter. He’s slightly withdrawn from other children, but his parents think that will change once he starts _real_ school and spends less time being doted on by his big brother Dean.

 

Sam doesn’t make any friends when he starts school though. His parents worry a bit at that point. Dean insists it’s only because Sam is too smart and they’re intimidated by him. It manages to cheer Sam up, but his parents still worry in silence. A few years pass, Sam doesn’t change, and neither does his social surroundings. It’s still only him, his parents, and his one and only brother Dean.

 

It’s not like there’s anything wrong with Sam—at least not in any obvious way. He just isn’t prone to making friends, doesn’t attract them that well, can’t blend in with other kids easily. Dean understands the feeling well. He’s never kept a friend for more than a few weeks. That was when he was _really_ trying.

 

Their parents tell Dean they want to pull Sam out of public schooling, home school him instead, maybe ease him into society later on when he seems to be improving. Dean is outraged. Sam is at school at the time and can’t even speak up if he wants to, although he’s already a teenager. Their father says it doesn’t matter what Dean thinks because they are the adults. They get the final word.

 

Dean picks up his jacket and rushes out to his bicycle, ignoring his parents following close behind. John yells for Mary to get in the car. She is torn between wanting to console Dean and listen to her husband. Ultimately, she chooses John.  Dean is peddling down the street, avoiding places where his father could use the car to cut him off and pull him inside. John is in the same angry, stubborn state of mind Dean’s in. He doesn’t notice when the light changes. He hears Mary scream in the passenger seat instead.

 

At the age of thirteen, Sam and Dean lose both their parents in a car accident.

 

After that, there’s no one around to worry about Sam being alone in school anymore. The people who could be paying attention, don’t. Most who go through that kind of loss don’t want strangers or classmates involved. Sam doesn’t need anyone. Dean tells him so.

 

Dean is all Sam has left now. Sam is all Dean has left to care about so he does it even better than before.

 

Sam is accepted to Stanford before Dean has time to save up the money for it. Thankfully, Sam’s solitude pays off in this situation. He has a full ride. Dean is so proud of his baby brother that he uses a bit of his savings and buys Sam a classic car: an Impala. Sam doesn’t know what to do with it. He tells Dean they should share, take turns using it. Dean accepts as long as when Sam does drive it, he uses it efficiently to _pick up chicks_. Sam tries to hide the flush of his skin. He’s not even spoken to a girl yet. But he promises he’ll try.

 

Sam may have not been noticed in elementary school for his brains, may have been teased in high school for his smarts, but in a prestigious school like Stanford, he gets noticed for his scholarship. Everyone swarms around him. They try to pick his brain. They tell him how impressive it is that his major is _law_ and he’s at the top of his class. He has access to so many friends now that he can’t decide who to choose. Sam sees a pretty blond girl looking at him from across the amphitheatre. He decides on her.

 

One day, Sam decides to test out Dean’s theory that a good car and a nice smile can charm any girl. What he doesn’t expect is for her to be waiting by his car before he has a chance to woo her. She introduces herself; her name is Jessica. The class Sam saw her in was just an elective. Jessica tells Sam that she was considering dropping it, but now she has a reason to stay in it.

 

Sam manages the nice smile bit, but Jessica is definitely the one charming him.

 

After a week, Sam knows she is the one. He doesn’t tell her. He tells Dean, though. Dean makes  a weird sound, the same way John would—if he were still alive—like he doesn’t approve, can’t, not until he meets her. Sam arranges that. Dean’s acceptance is more important than anything else, and Jessica is all he can think about.

 

Dean meets Jessica and Sam can tell he likes her right from the gentle handshake. She even gets Dean to blush a few times, even though he hides it really, really well (unlike Sam). When Jessica is leaving for a study group, Sam looks at Dean, and Dean is smiling and nodding his approval.

 

Sam is ecstatic that his two favourite people in the world actually like each other.

 

Dating is more stressful than Sam expects it to be. Dean always just winked at a girl, and she came over to him. They’d end up in some broom closet (or his bedroom when Sam walked in accidentally) making out after that.

 

Sam can’t figure out what new places to bring Jessica on dates. He doesn’t know when the right time is to hold her hand. He isn’t sure how long to wait until he kisses her for the first time.  Everything is stress, and it almost makes him wish he was a loner again.

 

Jessica makes it easy on him. She suggests places to meet. She grabs Sam’s hand when she wants hers to be held. She kisses him for the first time when he insists on walking her to her dorm for the hundredth time. Sam really can’t think of someone more perfect for him than her. She just fits into every aspect of his life. Regardless whether they met in the past, the present or the future, the result would still be the same. Sam is devotedly, hopelessly in love with Jessica.

 

Sam is pacing around the house. Dean is watching him do it. Dean asks what’s wrong, but Sam can’t even answer that. All Sam knows is that something _is_ very wrong. Jessica hasn’t been in school. Dean tries to comfort him. He pats Sam on the back like he did when they were kids trying to fit into a school that wouldn’t allow them to. Sam settles next to Dean on the couch. He’s much bigger and taller than he ever was. But he’s still as small inside next to his brother. Dean pulls him into a hug, and that scares Sam. It’s the same kind of warm embrace he received when their parents died and Dean was blaming himself for it.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Sam whispers.

 

Dean just nods and rises from the couch, not turning around.

 

Sam holds onto his knees, rocking back and forth for hours until his phone finally rings. It’s Jessica’s parents. Sam is shaking so hard he’s not sure he can even keep the phone in his grasp long enough to hear her mother’s voice, broken and rough from crying—

 

“Jessica is dead, Sam.”

 

_So how can it be this lonely?_

_Is that all we get for our lives?_

_Is love only sweeter when—_

_One of us dies_

 

And then so is Sam.

 

Dean is there again, picking up what’s left of Sam. He seals up the holes temporarily—until the next thing occurs. Sam reverts to that teenager who loved his parents, but loathed them for leaving him. Dean isn’t saying that Sam is better off alone this time because he saw how complete his little brother was with Jessica. He can’t lie to him. Never.

 

Sam has always been a good person. He’s also always found schoolwork easy. He doesn’t need friends to get through college, not when they weren’t around in the past, not when he has Dean back at home, not when Jessica was the only one who’d chosen him without needing a reason to.

 

Sam doesn’t need anyone. Sam tells Dean so.

 

There’s a girl with wavy, blond hair, just like Jessica’s, sitting in a coffee shop with her back turned. Sam sees her from across the street. For longer than he should, he stares at her hair, wondering if it could be Jessica. Sam never went to see Jessica’s body. He couldn’t open the coffin during her funeral. That left the possibility of it being her open. Maybe her parents were mistaken. They could have been confused by their overwhelming grief. Perhaps this is actually Jessica.

 

Sam watches her until she leaves the shop. He starts following her. Deep down he knows it can’t be Jessica, knows her parents would be the first to point it out, but Sam can’t let go. He can’t let go. It’s been two months. He knows already he won’t let go for as long as he’s breathing.

 

The girl isn’t as tall, but her hair is just as long. She walks in the same way Jessica does. Sam keeps on her trail. She takes out her cellphone and starts texting. Sam looks at her hands. Jessica would never have pink nail polish. Jessica is much more rebellious than that. Sam shakes out of it. This isn’t Jessica. This is another lady. That’s why.

 

Sam knows he can’t keep tailing her for long. He’s six feet five. She’s a pretty girl. It’s starting to get dark out. He doesn’t want to be arrested for something he doesn’t even want to do. He’s not some rapist or killer. He’s heartbroken. He’s _broken_. He’s trying to find the solution. That was all.

 

“Excuse me,” Sam clears his throat, “miss?”

 

The girl turns around and smiles. No sparks, no relief, nothing. It’s not helping, but maybe they could be friends.

 

“Just wondering if you might want to hang out—”

 

“Sure!”

 

She scribbles down her phone number on a ripped piece of paper and hands it to Sam. Apparently, his monstrous height is good for some things.

 

“Call me in a few hours, if you want.”

 

Sam does. They meet for drinks, which Sam really needs because she turns out to be a rambler. It only gets worse the more alcohol she consumes. Sam ends up having to walk her home. He tries to leave her at her doorstep, but she keeps dropping her keys. She’s nothing like Jessica. He can’t ignore her all the same.

 

She is so grateful when he unlocks her door for her she shoves him inside and pounces, legs spread wide. Sam is disgusted. Jessica would never do this.

 

Sam is careful. He tries to pry her off gently, but her hands don’t let go. They’re on the floor, a tangle of limbs. She’s trying to straddle him. All he wants is to seep through the floor, through the ground, through all the layers of earth, and melt when he reaches the core at the center of the world. She needs to stop.

 

“Okay, enough,” Sam says, tone even.

 

She thrusts her tongue in his mouth. That’s when his hand is around her throat, pushing her off. Sam’s eyes are tearing up because he feels like he cheated on Jessica with this—this _downgraded version_. All Sam wanted was a friend to lean on so Dean could live his own life.

 

Sam is standing, but she doesn’t get it. She’s on his back, wrapping her limbs around him like a monkey, rutting against him like some cheap whore. Sam nearly falls over from the added weight—not to mention the alcohol—and catches his footing barely. She, on the other hand, isn’t prepared for the abrupt stop. She loses her grip on his shoulders.

 

She lands on the glass table of her living room.

 

Sam stops breathing. He bends down, shaking her arm gently. He shakes her harder. The blood begins to pool around her body. It’s a colour he’s never seen before, never imagined. He’s not tipsy anymore once he realizes she’s dead. And it’s probably his fault.

 

Sam rushes out of her apartment. But what does surprise him is how he can’t find it anywhere in himself to call Dean and confess. Maybe he doesn’t want to drop more onto his plate. Maybe he’s ashamed of how he let this happen. Maybe he’s afraid of _what_ Dean will say. That could be it.

 

Sam puts his hands in his pocket and finds her underwear there. He needs to leave.

 

Sam says nothing when he gets home, in a sweat, his heart still racing. Dean’s picked up the habit of not asking since Jessica’s death, though. Dean knows Sam is still trying to cope. Dean doesn’t know how to help because he’s never loved a girl so deeply before.

 

_She blew me her death-kiss_

_And the mouth-marks bled down my eyes_

_Like her dying_

_On my windshield_

_I can already feel her worms_

_Eating my spine._

 

 

The next day, instead of feeling guilty, Sam feels fine. Instead of telling Dean about it, he holds it in. Instead of mentioning it to the police, he goes to school. And against any smidgen of sanity that he might still have left, Sam looks around his class for another blond girl to talk to.

 

Sam knows he’s lost it when he starts anticipating talking to the girl in the front row with wavy, blond hair.

 

Sam’s seen her before countless times. She’s a hardcore party girl. She thinks everyone is out of her league. But she drops her panties once you give her enough alcohol. Practically the entire class knows about that, knows of her. Maybe Sam is the only one who can identify her. The only reason being that she was Jessica’s roommate.

 

Sam doesn’t remember her name. He remembers her hair twirling. It doesn’t bother him like he expects it to, but something else does. How capable she is of blending in. People don’t know that she is the same girl who spreads her legs with one too many shots of tequila. She doesn’t look the same once daylight comes.

 

Her hair is in a tight ponytail, her sweater loose and unrevealing. She’s sitting up properly, her eyes fixed on the professor as she twirls her hair and continues jotting down notes. She looks wholesome, decent, _clean_. Sam knows she’s anything but.

 

Sam had only met her once before he started officially dating Jessica. He hopes she doesn’t remember him from that time. Knowing her reputation, she probably wouldn’t.

 

Sam walks behind her when class is over. He watches her transform before his eyes as she goes through the building and out the exit. She’s barely in her dorm yet and she already has cleavage showing and her hair undone. It twists Sam’s stomach, but he trudges along.

 

“Hey.”

 

She turns around almost immediately. It makes her hair wisp through the air and land more to one side of her face. Sam shivers. He remembers how Jessica would do exactly that to make fun of her roommate.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Sam smiles. She doesn’t remember him.

 

“Are you free?”

 

She turns the knob of her door without paying attention, looking annoyed.

 

“Do I know you?”

 

Sam keeps smiling in spite of everything telling him to back away and go home.

 

“Do you need to? I just wanted to take you for a drink.”

 

She twirls her hair, dropping a hip, letting go of the door.

 

“Okay. Wait here.”

 

The entire while he’s waiting, Jessica’s voice is ringing through his ears. She’s telling him not to. She’s saying this is wrong. She’s asking where _her_ Sam is. Sam clings to those thoughts, not because he likes them. He just misses her voice. If it means doing things she’s against to hear her again, then that’s what he’ll do.

 

The girl is back out with even more cleavage showing, and ten pounds of makeup. Sam stares at her. He picks through the details of her face, of her eyes, of her skin. He’s looking for anything that’s like Jessica. It’s really only the hair. That’s enough, he guesses.

 

They’re in a club. She chose it. Sam doesn’t really care. They’re dancing, but he’s not touching her, not more than he would a friend. She’s drinking, and he’s paying. She unabashedly orders more drinks. She’s drunk now. Sam wants to see it. He wants to know if the rumours are true with his own eyes. She tells him to follow her so he does. They end up in the back of the club, close to the bathrooms. She’s already getting on her knees.

 

“I wanna suck you off.”

 

Sam doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want it. She grins and her face looks evil to him. Jessica wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t be on her knees in some sketchy club where workers could walk by and see this. Sam pulls away, stands her up.

 

“Okay, come in here then.”

 

She pushes Sam into the men’s bathroom. She’s on her knees again, her stockings tearing. She’s too drunk to notice how angry Sam is, how flaccid his cock is. She frees it finally. Sam watches her, rage building up inside, as she jerks and jerks and jerks—

 

“Stop.”

 

She chuckles. “It’s okay if you’re nervous, we can go in a stall—

 

“No.”

 

 “Come on.”

 

She just won’t listen. Sam tries to get her filthy hands off his cock. She grasps his wrist instead, tying her scarf to it. That was Jessica’s spot. That was how she got her first kiss from Sam. That was not a place for this putrid girl to be touching. Sam shoves, harder than he means. She hits her head against the side of the porcelain seat.

 

Sam doesn’t wait to see the pool of blood this time. He shoves her scarf in his pocket.

 

Dean is asleep on the couch when Sam gets home. He turns off the TV, and throws a sheet over him. He whispers a ‘goodnight’. Dean turns over in his sleep. Sam doesn’t want to give Dean this added headache, this extra burden. If he goes to jail, that’s fine. Dean doesn’t need to worry before it happens.

 

Sam’s better judgment was most likely mopped up along with the blood from Jessica’s roommate when they found her lifeless body.

 

Sam gets better at finding girls at school and on the street that remind him of Jessica. He gives them fake names, fake phone numbers. He never invites them back to his place. He always takes an item of theirs as a keepsake. He’s always been good with knowing people. People just didn’t bother to know him very well.

 

Dean is the only one who knows Sam. He’s the only one who can stop his brother if he ever found out. If he ever decided to pry that is. But Dean still hasn’t after six months. Sam is beginning to think Dean will never interrogate him about his whereabouts in the future. Not after Sam swore he’d never let anyone abandon him again.

 

Sam starts a schedule for his _accidents_.

 

Mondays he has class until five, so he looks for a suitable girl until six. If he’s unsuccessful, he skips to the next week. If he finds one, however, he follows her and writes down her address. When she’s away from her place on Tuesday, Sam sneaks in and takes an item, and slips it into his pocket for his collection. Once that step is done, all that’s left is to make contact. That can fall on a Wednesday or a Thursday, but never a Friday because that was his _bro-day_ with Dean.

 

Eventually, Sam wants more than just a scarf or pair of panties from these Jessica wannabes. And Sam takes what he wants nowadays. Sam likes the new him. He likes being able to charm women like Dean. Sam especially likes that he can just snap right back into _Sammy_ when he’s around Dean. They can just talk, and things can be easy and simple again. He doesn’t need friends. Really he doesn’t. Dean was right when he said that years ago.

 

 

_Love is a fire_

_Burns down all that sees_

_Burns down everything_

_Everything you think burns down—_

_Everything you say_

 

 

The routine hasn’t stopped after a few more months, even throughout the school breaks. Sam doesn’t worry about being caught because he’s better now, more careful. He worries about how many it’s been, though. He worries how many more _fake Jessicas_ he’ll have to go through before he’s finally satiated, before he finds one he can keep, before he can at least find closure.

 

What if this went on forever? Who could live like that?

 

A new year comes along, which means freshmen follow. Normal people would be considering all the new friends they could acquire. Sam is thinking about all the new girls to riddle through. He should be concentrating on his classes—even though he’s passing them all easily—because he only has one more year until he’s done with college. Hopefully that would mean moving on and away from this dark place in his life.

 

Dean seems to like this secretive, unsocial Sammy as much as the head-over-heels in love one. Sam would love Dean no matter who or what he became as well. A monster can’t judge another.

 

The new semester starts. Sam’s already tired of school. The new fad is to have dark, _dark_ hair with uneven bangs and mismatched socks. Sam can’t even squint and see a resemblance to Jessica. He gives up trying to find the next girl at Stanford.

 

On his way down the steps of one of many amphitheatre’s a shorter man—everyone is shorter than Sam, really—bumps into him.

 

“My apologies,” the man mumbles. His voice certainly didn’t make him sound short.

 

“It’s fine,” Sam mutters back. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you in the wrong class?”

 

Sam knows everyone in this class. He’s been through the attendance lists—thoroughly.

 

“I believe that is possible,” the man answers. “Do you know where I can find Ethics and Humanity?”

 

Sam should be listening. He can usually do that very well while planning how to make a death seem like an accident. But something about this guy is throwing him off. There’s just something about him—

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“That does not answer my question.”

 

“Room E-14.” That didn’t even exist, only a freshman would fall for it.

 

The man writes it down on his binder. “My name is Castiel. What’s your name?”

 

“Tom.”

 

Sam hurries down the stairs before he makes a mistake he doesn’t want to. This man, this _Castiel_ , already knows more than he needs to. Sam is perfectly content being the faceless, friendless genius at the back of the class. He’s not going to let some lost, mysterious freshman with bright blue eyes get him off track.

 

The next time Sam sees Castiel, he ends up ruining Sam’s schedule.

 

There’s a beautiful, golden-haired girl walking down the hall towards Sam. She’s not a freshman which may cause him problems. He welcomes a challenge. She smiles at him, small and tight, polite but not unfriendly. Sam catches a glimpse of Jessica he’s been aching to get back.  She could be the one to stop this chase of his. She could be the one to make him use his knowledge of law for something productive rather than covering up his tracks. She could be the next Jessica.

 

Sam is about to ask her name when a slight—and unfortunately familiar—man steps in front of him, his hands on his hips.

 

“E-14?” Castiel glowers. He does it well, Sam notes.

 

It almost makes Sam feel bad for making that up, except he’s done worse things. “Do I know you?” Sam moves aside. He looks to the left, the right; the girl is gone.

 

“I went through the school asking people I recognized from your class if they knew a giant named Tom who liked to mislead distressed freshmen,” Castiel crosses his arms to his chest, getting closer to Sam, “They said no one named Tom was in the class. It was not a suitable name for a lawyer.”

 

Sam’s lips twitch upward. He forces his composure back. “I really think you’re mistaken.” He begins walking away, not looking back at that scowl pinned to Castiel’s face.

 

Sam used to be a smooth talker, now he’s downright skilled. It’s going to take more than a little guilt for him to care about this man with five o’clock shadow and sea-coloured eyes.

 

“Sam!” Castiel shouts so loud, so violently, that it sounds like a gravely snarl. “I know your name even if no one else does.”

 

Sam can’t tell if that’s a threat or something else. It frightens him for few moments, his back still turned to Castiel. Then he realizes he likes the sound of that. They can be on equal footing if that’s the case. Sam turns back and marches up to Castiel. It may only be to keep the other students from continuing to murmur, but he wants to do it. Castiel visibly swallows down his nerves, but doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. Sam likes that too.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Sam puts out his hand, “I’m Sam.” The people in the hall stop whispering, gawking, and go about their business.

 

Castiel takes Sam’s hand, surprisingly gently, “Nice to meet the _real_ you.” His other hand wraps over their hold.

 

It sends a weird sensation zipping up Sam’s arm. Maybe Sam could like that as well. Maybe Sam could have a friend again.

 

It’s been a week since Sam has started speaking to Castiel honestly. He’s as truthful as he can be without mentioning the girls and Jessica. That mostly leaves him talking about his protective big brother. Castiel says that he has siblings too, quite a few, but he’s not close to any of them. Sam thinks as long as you have friends who are as close as family, then you don’t need actual family. Castiel says he doesn’t have any friends either.

 

“Now you do,” Sam declares, without considering the weight of it.

 

Thoughtless isn’t synonymous with false. Sam does mean it. He wants to try having a friend for once. This could be his best chance. This could be his last chance to feel some semblance of normal.

 

“Thank you, Sam.” Castiel’s smile is soft and meaningful. It makes Sam’s heart ache.

 

Maybe Sam should try to be friends with someone else first. Castiel does strange things to his emotions, to his open sores. He soothes them. And yet, Castiel makes them feel like they’re renewed. Sam needs to continue his routine. That must be it.

 

So he does.

 

Castiel meets him a few times per week for lunch. It’s perfect because it doesn’t conflict with his after school studying, his schedule or his quality time with Dean. They can’t help each other study that much because of their majors, but Castiel offers. Sam turns him down, gently, explaining that he needs to write his graduation thesis. It would be true if he hadn’t gotten ahead of himself and written the whole in-depth outline already. All that Sam had left is to type it out. That wouldn’t take long.

 

One night, Dean rents a slasher film for his bro-day with Sam. Sam is remarkably bothered by it. He wonders if it’s because he can relate to the killer or because he cannot. Sam realizes he can’t. That murderer is just some vengeful, angry man cutting down innocent youth in order to make himself feel better. Sam is a broken hearted, confused, ingenious person who isn’t doing it out of malice. There’s a purpose. There’s a goal: to find the one who can make living bearable again.

 

Dean starts laughing at a particularly gory scene involving a bathroom. Sam excuses himself and goes to theirs. It reminds him too much of Jessica’s roommate hitting her head on the toilet seat. The blood dripped grotesquely down the side, against the tiles, nearly touching Sam’s shoes. He throws up the pizza Dean ordered not forty minutes ago.

 

Sam thought finding a friend who could put him in his place like Jessica did would make it all disappear. He was convinced that would cure—whatever this phase is. But it isn’t working. Sam loves spending time with Castiel. He finds him witty and interesting and kind. He’s practically the spitting image of Jessica if she was a man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. But she wasn’t. That’s where the problem lies.

 

Sam can’t forget her. Her hair was so soft and inviting. She smelt like flowers you could only concoct in your dreams; mixtures of lilies, jasmine, roses. Jessica used to let Sam play with her hair for hours as they kissed in her dorm. That’s what he misses most. She made everything sweet and intimate somehow. He didn’t get aroused because he didn’t want it to go further. He was happy doing just that. Forever.

 

But forever came and went a long time ago.

 

Weeks pass and Sam and Castiel get to be closer friends. Sam thinks this is what normal people would call a best friend. Castiel seems to be just as surprised that it progressed so quickly, so easily, between them. Sam couldn’t have made it any more difficult at first.

 

Sam didn’t know how to deal with being touched by anyone who wasn’t Dean or Jessica. Castiel didn’t know how to diminish his urge to reach out and place his hand on Sam’s shoulder or his arm. Castiel never had the chance to give affection in his household. They are both creatures of habit. Sam didn’t really get much affection. He didn’t know what to do with it.

 

Often, Sam would just end up staring at Castiel’s hand. It would make the _older man_ (that shocked Sam when he found out) move his hand away due to guilt. Sam didn’t want Castiel to feel guilty about being friendly. He forced himself to adapt to it, to try and appreciate it. Castiel explained that was his way of getting to know someone better. That’s how he knew he could trust them. Sam wants more than anything for someone besides Dean to trust him again.

 

Sam encourages Castiel to touch him by leaning in for it. Instead of staring at the hand, Sam smiles. Castiel seems to appreciate it from the flush crawling over his cheeks. He touches more often and more sporadically.

 

Castiel’s fingers curl around Sam’s bicep when he finds Sam, immersed in a book in the library. Sam is startlingly, undeniably aroused by that simple touch. Sam doesn’t make Castiel remove his hand even though that may be best. He asks if they can meet after school instead of lunch. Castiel’s answering smile is brighter and warmer than the sun’s rays.

 

This is the first time Sam has been to a coffee shop with someone other than Jessica. Dean prefers diners and restaurants. Castiel’s presence is announced by the bell at the top of the door. Sam looks up from his hands and waves him over. Castiel's smile is stretched across his lips. He looks excited. Sam can’t help but smile back. Sam orders for them since Castiel insists he has no idea what’s good.  And that he trusts Sam. Sam’s heart does a little leap in his chest. It’s feels like the first time Jessica kissed him.

 

Sam wonders if he’s wrong to be feeling this strongly. He hasn’t ever really appreciated people. He hasn’t even liked girls that much save for Jessica. Here he is, his heart fluttering at the sight of an older man from his college. Sam doesn’t even know if Castiel likes him that way or if he’s just the touchy, emotional type. It’s a first for both of them, though. They’ve never kept a friend.

 

Castiel sips the drink too fast and burns his tongue. Sam watches his brow crease and his nose crinkle with the newfound pain. Castiel is whimpering, fanning his tongue to try and stop the pain. Sam doesn’t want to see his friend suffering like this. Sam’s fingers curl at the back of Castiel’s neck and draw him in for a soft, latte-flavoured kiss. Sam considers whether he should remember this as their first kiss or not. It all depends on what happens afterwards.

 

Castiel pulls away. His eyes are wide and questioning. Sam feels worried that he may have ruined his fragile friendship. Castiel smiles after a moment. He drags Sam in for a deeper kiss. He seems to be enjoying the taste of the coffee on Sam’s tongue. He keeps swiping his tongue across Sam’s taste buds for it.

 

It is their first kiss after all. Sam engraves it in his mind.

 

Sam starts wanting to replace Jessica less because he gets to see Castiel more. They sneak kisses in the library when Castiel should be studying. Sometimes Sam follows Castiel back to his dorm. They lie on his bed, connected at every point from feet to hair. Castiel’s hair doesn’t smell like flowers, but sweet spices that make Sam hungry. He curls his fingers in it, dragging his blunt nails down Castiel’s scalp. The whimper reverberates between their mouths and down Sam’s chest until it settles low in his stomach, threatening to travel down to his groin. Sam keeps that sound and memorizes every aspect of it, including the taste of it on his lips. When it gets to be too much contact, too sudden, Sam turns on his back. Castiel rests his head on Sam’s shoulder. He falls soundly asleep. They don’t do more than that. It’s perfect.

 

Sam starts messing up his school work because he’s daydreaming about Castiel. He starts cutting classes to spend time in Castiel’s bed just petting his hair. They kiss, slow and sensual. Their mouths fitting together perfectly like a lock and key. His grades aren’t affected, but his sleep is. Dean asks why Sam seems so airy, so tired. Sam can’t find the words to explain what he has with Castiel. He hasn’t even mentioned their friendship yet. He doesn’t want to jinx it by letting it out like he did with Jessica.

 

_Jessica._

 

Sam leaves class early and doesn’t go to Castiel’s dorm even though he wants to. Sam promised he would love Jessica forever. He does still love her. He loves her so much he can’t find where to place Castiel. Castiel doesn’t deserve to be so far down on his list when he brings Sam so high up in the clouds when they kiss. It’s like he has wings. It’s like he’s a guardian angel.

 

A girl passes by Sam in the hall. It’s the one that Castiel stopped him from following months ago. Maybe this is a sign for him, telling him to try again. Sam thinks so. He follows her and begins his schedule as he did with every other girl before her. She isn’t special, though. Sam doesn’t even want to talk to her, but he does. He immediately regrets it. He ends up killing her in between two buildings with her own keys in at dusk. He brings her body along with him this time. Dean has to sleep early for work at the garage anyway.

 

It’s not his best work. Sam doesn’t care. He wants to stop thinking about Jessica. But this girl just wouldn’t do her justice. He wants to see Castiel. But he doesn’t know how to explain the canceled plans. He’s torn. He’s sore. There’s blood on his shirt. There’s blood on the shirt he took from her. He needs to sleep.

 

Sam’s head hits the pillow. Jessica’s face appears in his mind for a while. He smiles at the ceiling, pulling his blanket up. Castiel’s shy smile appears next, the one that sends shivers down his spine. The one that’s _sending_ shivers down his spine right now. Sam groans when he feels himself getting hard. They haven’t even done anything but kiss. That’s enough for him, he knows. But is it enough for Castiel? Will Castiel always be happy with what Sam gives him? Sam knows he’s not the greatest person to be around. But he tries. He especially works on his faults for Castiel.

 

What would Castiel think if he found out? Sam feels cold and alone. Even the memories of Jessica don’t take the edge off the pain of—the pain of what? Sam’s eyes are wide open. He can’t lose Castiel like he did Jessica. Castiel can never find out. Sam is determined to find a way to stop his schedule if it’s the last thing he does.

 

Sam gets two hours of sleep.

 

_Then I knew that our love was_

_Just a car crash away_

_Knew that our love was_

_Just a car crash away_

 

Dean is watching Sam. Sam is too drowsy to notice.

 

Dean keeps watching Sam for the rest of the week. There’s something different about Sam. He’s not the lonely boy he was when they lost their parents. He’s not the giddy student he became after he started dating Jessica. He’s not the pieces that Dean practically taped together to keep his brother sane either. He’s glowing without needing to smile. He’s in a daze. He’s dressing better. He’s the kind of happy that shows through your eyes. Dean figures it out while Sam’s glossy gaze stares into his cereal bowl for answers. Sam’s _in love_. And from the looks of it, it’s the sort of love that keeps you up at night.

 

Dean is upset that Sam didn’t tell him, but he’s glad it could happen again after all this time. The other thing that bothers Dean is why Sam looks like he’s struggling with this love. Dean munches on toast, mulling over the possibilities in silence. Sam could be dating someone other than the person he loves. Sam could be dating two girls at once. Sam could be trying to get her to love him back. The girl could have dumped him. Dean grumbles. Sam looks up.

 

“What’s wrong?” Sam drinks the milk from his bowl.

 

“Nothing, Sammy,” Dean shoves the last piece of toast in his mouth and gets up. If he isn’t going to say it, Dean will just have to figure it out on his own.

 

Sam mopes around the house until Dean leaves for work. He calls Castiel immediately. Castiel sounds happy but tired. It’s Monday. Sam ignores the schedule nagging to be paid attention to.

 

Sam only has class in the afternoon. Castiel has class until noon. They usually try to meet for lunch if they’re not too tired. That’s the schedule Sam wants to remember. He repeats it over and over and over and over—

 

“Sam?”

 

“Yeah, sorry. What did you say, Cas?”

 

“I didn’t sleep well last night. Can we meet tomorrow instead?”

 

The first schedule jumps back into Sam’s mind. Sam hangs up after he says _bye_ and _see you tomorrow_. Sam notices a blond girl walking down his street without wanting to. He tries to close his eyes and picture Castiel instead. There’s already blood on his hands when the world comes back into view. This isn’t his style anymore. This isn’t why he used to do it. He doesn’t even know why this one had to die. He can’t remember how she died. He can’t change it no matter how much he’d like.

 

Sam cries when Jessica’s smile turns into a frown in his mind. He can’t even conjure up the expression he’s been using to survive so long. Sam needs Castiel. Sam needs him more than he’s needed anything else. Possibly more than he could have ever needed Jessica.

 

Sam hides the girl’s body with the last one. He uses her shirt to wipe off his hands and throws it with the other items in his room. Dean would never come in without permission. He promised that much. Sam doesn’t worry about locking his bedroom door and goes to school.

 

Tomorrow things would be better. Tomorrow Sam could be with Castiel.

 

Castiel is waiting for Sam in the library with a smirk on his face. It’s the first time Sam’s ever seen Castiel look anything but innocent and perfect. He still looks perfect, though. Sam intertwines their fingers and asks why Castiel looks like that. He refuses to say. Castiel pulls Sam further into the library. He says there’s a wonderful shelf of books in the back. It’s a place where old classics get dusty and aren’t used. It’s a place where no one else goes. Sam’s heart starts racing.

 

Castiel pushes Sam into the dark corner, leaning his lithe body into Sam. Their bodies mesh as well as their mouths do. Sam’s fingers are in Castiel’s hair before he notices, and Castiel purrs like he always does. The effect is the same on Sam’s body. Castiel looks down between their hips, observing the change. They’ve never been standing when it happened. When Sam became so aroused he’d have to turn away and let Castiel sleep on him instead. There’s no escaping it this time.

 

“Would you like my assistance?”

 

Sam’s eyes are closed. He likes how eager yet patient Castiel has always been. He sounds like he’s straining to keep his voice even. He sounds like he’s been anticipating, planning this whole moment in hopes that Sam would agree. It’s impeccable just like Castiel is.

 

“Yes.”

 

Castiel keeps one hand in Sam’s as he lowers himself to the ground. Sam doesn’t know if he can handle this. Hand. Sam thought it would be Castiel’s hand. This reminds him of that girl again. It’s like that outrageous girl who lost her inhibitions with liquor. Sam is scared. What if he hurts Castiel?

 

“Hands, Cas.”

 

Sam is breathless. He forces his eyes open to look down at Castiel. Castiel still looks beautiful and pure. He’s nothing like that whore. But Castiel listens. He unzips Sam’s jeans and slides out his length gently. His free hand strokes up and down slowly. Castiel’s warm breath against Sam’s cock only aids in his steady climb towards Heaven. Sam runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair softly, encouraging him. Castiel lets go of Sam’s hand to cup his sac, running his hand over and between it in patterns. Sam is falling apart. His mouth is open but nothing is coming out except bigger and deeper breaths of air. Castiel smirks, leaning in to blow hot over the tip of Sam’s erection. Sam’s done. His chest heaves. Castiel doesn’t have anything to clean up the come on the verge of shooting out of Sam like a piston. He decides his mouth will have to do. Sam makes a noise then. It’s almost as amazing as the snarl Castiel produced the second time they saw each other.

 

“You shouldn’t have,” Sam says, panting.

 

“I wanted to,” Castiel answers, licking the corner of his lips. “Did you enjoy it?”

 

“Very much.”

 

Sam slides down to the floor using the wall as support. He kisses Castiel. He tastes different, but feels the same. He still smells like items that make Sam hungry.  Maybe the hunger is different now, too. They may need to continue more of this soon. Elsewhere is a better idea. Libraries are too public.

 

Castiel tucks Sam back in his pants delicately. They stand together. Sam fixes Castiel’s hair. He ruffled it quite a bit with the activity. Castiel smiles and lets him. He lets Sam do anything. Sam is lost in his eyes for a moment. The blue is so deep and sensitive. It feels like Castiel could devour his soul with a simple bat of his lashes. Sam is shaken from the thought when something protruding and hard pokes him in the leg. Castiel is still aroused.

 

“Go back to your dorm?” Sam whispers, kissing Castiel on the forehead.

 

Castiel hums and nods, “Please.”

 

Sam is afraid. But it’s a good fear. It’s a fear of the unknown and nothing else. Castiel is lying on his bed making grabby hands. Sam climbs over him, their hips pressing together as their lips touch. Castiel moans into Sam’s mouth. Sam feels that tremor take over his body, stronger than ever. Castiel makes him want to try things he can’t even comprehend. He still doesn’t understand how Castiel snuck into his heart and took over every corner of it.

 

Sam pulls on Castiel’s lip gently with his own, drawing it into his mouth. His tongue flicks over it and Castiel’s hips jerk. It’s making Sam hard again. Castiel’s legs spread to accommodate Sam. Their erections are still fully clothed but they wouldn’t know about that. Their lips are just enough to send jolts of pleasure down into their groins as they grind. Castiel gasps and Sam stares. He needs him. He needs him desperately. He needs _more_.

 

Castiel’s hips buck when Sam’s fingers trail down his shirt. They should have probably undressed a bit. There’s no time for that now. Castiel whimpers and Sam can hear his desperation. They both need this. Their fingers intertwine on either side of Castiel’s body and Sam uses his height to his advantage. Castiel always said he should be proud of it. He mouths at the thick fabric of Castiel’s pants. Castiel’s hips jump, his mouth parted.

 

“Please, Sam,” Castiel pleads.

 

Sam doesn’t want his gift from God to ever feel the need to beg. He pulls down Castiel’s zipper with his teeth.  He can’t let go of Castiel’s hands. He needs the familiar contact to go through with this new experience. Castiel’s briefs are light grey. Sam can see the pre-come already transpiring through it. He won’t last long.

 

“Please…”

 

Sam nuzzles his nose against the bulge, his teeth gnawing softly. Castiel goes very still, squeezing Sam’s fingers. Sam can feel how close he is. He pulls one hand away and drags the pants and underwear down at once. Sam isn’t good at receiving, but he loves giving. Castiel smells like unfiltered lust. Sam closes his eyes and memorizes the different levels of it. Castiel rolls his hips when Sam’s tongue leaves a long strip of wet skin on the underside of his cock. Sam likes the texture of it. He laps over more of Castiel’s shaft. That provokes a full-bodied shudder. Sam nearly comes in his own pants from the realization of his power over Castiel.

 

Castiel rubs each of Sam’s knuckles like he’s counting them. He’s trying to distract himself. Sam doesn’t know why he’s torturing Castiel again. He takes the head in his mouth quickly and sucks. Castiel gasps and arches. Sam sucks again, harder, watching Castiel’s back curl like an animal. Castiel’s leg wraps around Sam’s shoulder. Sam grins and pushes Castiel’s length as far down his throat as he can. He’s always had a massive jaw. Castiel screams, grabbing Sam’s hair roughly as he comes. Sam’s eyes fall shut. He really likes giving. He also never realized how much he likes his own hair being touched. Castiel is letting out shaky breaths, his fingers stroking through Sam’s locks. Sam can’t take much more. He barely has time to touch his own erection and he’s soiling his hand. He’s lost in the scent, taste, feel of Castiel. Castiel groans and Sam realizes he’s still sucking Castiel’s cock while palming his own.

 

“Sorry,” Sam kisses the tip. “I guess I really like the taste.”

 

Castiel drags Sam up, their bodies joining together. Sam doesn’t want to dirty Castiel. He looks for somewhere to wipe his hand. Castiel takes it upon himself. He sucks each finger thoroughly, monitoring Sam’s reaction. Sam wants nothing more than to have his lips around Castiel’s length again. He closes his eyes when Castiel reaches the middle finger and twirls his tongue around it. He can’t possibly be getting hard again. Can he? Sam opens his eyes and Castiel looks spent, utterly disheveled. Sam pulls Castiel close, and Castiel falls asleep in his arms. Nothing’s changed.

 

Sam wakes up some hours later. He feels like he needs air. He leaves Castiel a note saying he’ll be back.

 

Sam wanders the streets aimlessly. He wonders why exactly he left the warm body pressed so comfortably to his own. He wonders why he’s still afraid of giving his whole heart over to Castiel. He loves Castiel. They both know that.

 

Sam leans on a tree in a park, holding his head. A girl with long, blond hair walks up to him. She puts her hand on his shoulder. Her smile isn’t right. He wants to snap her wrist. Sam moves away and keeps walking, ignoring her calls. That’s why he can’t let Castiel in. There’s an abundance of darkness inside. There are too many things Castiel would have a reason to leave him for. Sam wouldn’t be able to come back from the depths this time. Not a second time.

 

Sam anxiously returns to Castiel’s dorm. He could still hold on to this while he has the opportunity. He’s not been outed yet. Castiel curls around Sam like he never left. He’s still asleep. Sam doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

 

The next morning, Castiel offers to accompany Sam home. He wants to spend more time with Sam before he goes to class. Sam can’t deny him. It’s the least he can do. Dean would have to deal with seeing some male PDA.

 

Sam is walking up to the house. He can already feel Dean’s eyes through the blinds. He forgot to call and say he was sleeping out. Dean worries. He has good reason considering Sam’s recent activities and blackouts. Castiel squeezes Sam’s hand. Sam smiles because it’s like receiving an injection of courage. He doesn’t know how to face Dean. Worse though, he doesn’t know how to tell Castiel.

 

Castiel walks him all the way to their front door. Sam doesn’t want to scar Dean. He kisses Castiel on the cheek softly, smiling more than he can control. Castiel seems to appreciate the slight gesture. He slips his fingers out of Sam’s to hold Sam’s waist instead. Their hips touch and Sam nearly gasps. He didn’t want to do this in front of Dean. He can’t help himself, though. Castiel’s lips seek out his and there goes the world. It doesn’t exist. Nothing exists except the warmth between them.

 

Sam hopes Dean can accept Castiel like he did Jessica. No one else’s opinion matters.

 

Sam waves at Castiel as he leaves for class. He’s worry-stricken for some reason. There was nothing he needed to worry about. Dean would perhaps complain, but he wouldn’t stop Sam from being with Castiel. Sam’s in the house, but Dean isn’t by the window anymore. He hears a door creak open upstairs. Sam’s mind can’t process what’s happening. Dean is betraying his trust. Dean’s room is on the first floor.

 

Sam doesn’t believe it. Sam denies what he _knows_ is going to happen. It’s inevitable. Sam goes up the stairs after Dean. He’s so quiet that when he reaches the top of the staircase, Dean doesn’t stop rummaging through Sam’s room. Why would Dean do this to him? Did Sam do something wrong?

 

Sam is in his room. Dean is standing in front of Sam’s closet. Dean’s fingers are holding up one of the girl’s shirts. His hand is shaking. Sam’s stomach sinks to his knees. He nearly collapses. How could he explain?

 

“Dean,” Sam whispers. He’s too frightened. Dean looks scared when he turns around, too.

 

“What— _how_ could you do this?” Dean’s pieced it all together. Sam knows he could never hide it forever from him. Dean knows him too well.

 

“I don’t know,” Sam starts but his voice gets caught in his throat. His web of lies has captured him. He’s trapped. There’s nowhere to go but down. “I’m so sorry. I don’t understand myself—”

 

“Save it,” Dean cuts in. “I don’t want to hear anymore. Does your boyfriend know? Castiel?”

 

“No,” Sam answers, upset. Dean found out more than anticipated.

 

“You need to tell him,” Dean drops the shirt in the basket. “I won’t turn you in. I can’t.” Dean approaches Sam with a gaze so fierce it turns Sam’s blood cold. “But doesn’t he deserve to know who he’s getting involved with?”

 

Dean brushes past Sam, heading in the direction of the stairs. Was he going to call Castiel? Dean couldn’t do that. He couldn’t tell him. No one could understand. No one would forgive Sam like Dean did.

 

Dean is going down the stairs. Sam doesn’t want Castiel to know. Never. Sam’s trying to get better. He’s been getting better with Castiel. Sam grabs Dean’s shoulder. Dean shrugs it off. Sam grabs again. Dean shrugs too hard. He loses his footing as he takes the next step. Sam tries to reach out to catch his shirt. He misses. Dean falls down the rest of the wooden steps. Sam can hear the pain of each stair. He’s praying it’s nothing more than a few bruises and a broken ankle. The sound Dean’s neck makes when he hits the bottom makes Sam wish _he_ had fallen. That would have solved everything.

 

Sam rushes down the steps. He can’t breathe. Dean isn’t breathing. Sam can’t move. Dean isn’t moving. Sam’s eyes squeeze shut when it hits him. Dean is dead. He keeps them shut. He hopes this is just another blackout. Maybe it’s just another sick fantasy. But he would never kill Dean. Dean is his family. He’s his only family left. Sam opens his eyes. Dean is ever motionless. Blood starts trickling down the side of his mouth. Sam goes to the bathroom and empties the contents of his stomach.

 

Sam doesn’t go to school the next day. He spends the day cleaning up the blood, cleaning up Dean. He changes Dean’s clothes and sets him on the couch. Sam is okay with it like this. He’s okay until he looks up and those dark purple bruises just remind him of the snapping sound. Sam can’t get to the toilet fast enough. He throws up in the kitchen sink. His tears make it easier to clean his face off at least. Sam looks over at Dean. His body is slouched over. He’s limp. It’s not Dean anymore. Sam can’t see straight. Everything is blurring. His world is darkening. He realizes it’s the tears eclipsing over his vision. Sam rubs his nose on his sleeve. His hands hang in the sink filled with water. He swirls his fingers through the bubbly liquid. He wishes Castiel were here. He wishes Castiel could understand. He wishes he could tell him.

 

Was he destined to only ever keep one good person in his life at a time?

 

Sam can’t stand to look at Dean anymore. It hurts too much. He finds a fitting solution. He just needs more time with Dean. He needs to speak to him. What they said—what Dean found out—how they parted—

 

Sam dips his head in the sink. If he’s lucky, he could prove the one drop theory correct.

 

Castiel is calling. Sam feels a stab of pain each time the phone rings. Castiel doesn’t stop when Sam’s missed three days of school. It’s their finals week. Sam misses another exam. Castiel calls and hangs up repeatedly. Sam’s heart breaks with each missed call listed on his display.

 

Castiel starts leaving messages. Sam doesn’t listen to them. He refuses to answer his phone. Dean’s boss calls. Sam answers and says ‘he’s dead’. He hangs up and cries for the rest of the day.

 

The phone rings all night on Thursday. Sam throws his phone against the living room wall. It smashes into pieces. The sudden quiet only makes Sam’s pain worsen.

 

Midnight chimes through their house soon after. Sam can’t hold back the tears again. They’re never going to have Fridays anymore. Their quality time would never happen. Dean would never meet Castiel. Dean would never see Sam marry Castiel. Sam would never marry Castiel now. They’d never have wives, children, and grandchildren. There’d never be anyone to say how smart and strong Sam was as a child. The Winchester line is finished. Sam made sure of that, personally.

 

Sam falls asleep sitting next to Dean on the couch.

 

The next morning, Sam wakes up to a horrid odor. It smells like rotting flesh. Dean is starting to decompose. Sam hasn’t even had a chance to mourn properly. It forces him to go through with his plan sooner than he intended. Sam goes out into the backyard and starts digging.

 

Castiel knows where Sam lives now. He didn’t want to use it to his advantage. But it’s been too long. Castiel is worried something terrible has happened. He knocks at the door, cautious. There’s no answer. He knocks again. Nothing. Castiel turns the doorknob. It’s unlocked. He walks in. Sam is busy cleaning his laundry basket in his room. He doesn’t hear anything over how much he hates himself.

 

“Sam?”

 

Castiel’s used to it recently. There’s never any answer.

 

Castiel stops in his tracks when he reaches the living room. There are drops of blood all over the floor. They trail out to the back door. He can hardly contain his fear, but he has to know. It could be Sam. It could be Dean. It could be both. If this is why Sam wasn’t answering, Castiel needs to know.

 

Following the trail, it leads Castiel to the backyard. A large patch of grass has been ripped out and thrown askew. There’s a gaping hole. It’s dark and eerie. But the daylight helps Castiel see inside a bit. There are bodies at the bottom. Castiel covers his mouth to keep from screaming. There are several female bodies. Castiel thinks they are all female until he notices a plaid shirt. It’s not Sam. Could it be Dean? Castiel stares in spite of the terror thrusting through him like blades. He could see the resemblance. It must be Dean.

 

Castiel backs away when his stomach lurches. He notices a can of gas next to the hole. How could anyone do something like this? How could Sam?

 

Castiel wants to run away. But he can’t. He wants to alert the authorities. He wants to tell all the neighbours. He wants to shout for help. But he can’t. He can’t because Sam is _Sam_. Sam will always be the first person he’s kissed. He’ll always be in his heart. Castiel remembers clearly how terrified Sam was when they first met. Castiel could see Sam didn’t feel comfortable around people. He wanted to help.

 

Even now, all Castiel wants to do is help. He wants to save Sam. He’d probably be saving Sam from himself. Castiel doesn’t want to go back to being unloved and ignored. He doesn’t want to return to his siblings that treat him like he doesn’t exist. He needs Sam. Castiel needs Sam even like this. Castiel wants to be with Sam even if he ends up in a hole like Dean did. Sam is perfect to him.

 

Sam almost doesn’t make it outside. He can’t believe Castiel is here. Sam wants to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness for everything. Castiel is the closest thing to God Sam’s ever going to find. He’s going to Hell once he dies. Of that Sam is certain. He clears his throat when he can’t be silent anymore.

 

Sam closes his eyes and waits. He expects wind to sluice as Castiel runs past. He imagines a fist or a palm battering his cheek to make him pay. He hopes for some word to hold on to for the rest of his empty existence if this is the last time he ever sees Castiel. Sam gets none of that. Castiel’s arms are around Sam, low on his waist, straining to tighten the hold. They can’t get any closer. Sam is more than sure of that.

 

“It’s okay,” Castiel murmurs, “it’s okay, Sam. I love you.”

 

Sam holds Castiel closer, tighter. This is what he’s been lacking. This is what Dean was trying to tell him. He hadn’t even met Castiel and he knew all along. Sam breaks down, crying into Castiel’s shoulder. The promise of never hurting someone again crosses his mind. He doesn’t say it in case he can’t keep it. But this, he can keep. He can keep Castiel in his arms.

 

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts always appreciated. <3
> 
> Lyrics throughout from "Just a car crash away" by Marilyn Manson


End file.
